by Joe Thomas
I was torn on how to handle the situation. I love saying fuck. I say it all the time. It’s my second favorite word after bukkake. Honestly, there’s really no better word than bukkake. Just saying bukkake makes me smile. If you don’t believe me just know I am smiling at this exact moment. But I am talking about the word fuck. Repeat it with me, “Fuck. Fuckity, fuck fuck!” Almost heals all your aches and pains just saying it outloud. Like the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders.
I say it when I am happy.
I say it when I am sad.
I say it when I am frustrated.
I even say it when I am mad.
I say fuck - Joe I am.
I figured resolving this conflict with 19D involved removing her from the flight. No question. She was a migraine with no Excedrin. I couldn’t possibly manage through the flight looking at her face each time I walked by. What if she stabbed me while I zipped by with a cup of hot coffee? I couldn’t let that happen. Clearing my head and releasing my anger was my top priority. I turned around, took a deep cleansing breath, maneuvered myself through the few passengers standing behind me in the aisle, and marched to the back of the airplane. While approaching the back galley Misty instantly picked up on my temperament. “I’m so angry,” I put my hands on my hips while standing between the two lavatories, “The lady in 19D just told me to get the fuck out of her way.”
“What? Why did she say that?” Misty asked stepping back to allow me space to walk into the galley.
“I don’t know.” The volume of my voice never lowered, “I was helping some old lady with her bag and I guess I didn’t move fast enough.”
She shook her head, “I swear. These people are ridiculous. Call Ursula and tell her. Nobody should talk to us like that.”
Moving over to the jumpseat across from Misty I threw my hands up like a drama queen, "Who the hell does this bitch think she is?" I didn’t give Misty time to answer. Without warning I violently started punching the headrest of the jumpseat. Left. Right. Left. Right. All while passengers were still boarding the airplane. I imagined her bloody lips and swollen eyes each time I struck the jumpseat violently. The harder I punched the better I felt. Misty laughed uncomfortably while wondering what the hell I was doing.
After what seemed to be a few minutes I stopped striking the jumpseat and looked over at Misty, “I bet if I punched her in the throat she'd never think of dropping the f-bomb on another flight attendant again. What do you think?”
“I think you need to have some water and chill out.” She started walking away, “Cool down and call Ursula. I’m gonna check out the cabin. I’ll be right back.”
She left the galley and made her way up the aisle closing full overhead bins. I contemplated walking up to row 19, grabbing the bitch by her neck, and throwing her out of the airplane directly onto the tarmac. I let that thought pass through my mind and smiled for a brief moment. After I downed two large bottles of water I picked up the interphone and called Ursula to brief her on the situation. She didn’t say much and listened to me rant. We hung up and a few minutes later Captain Emerson called me in the back, “Hey Joe, do you want this passenger removed from the flight?”
What an idiotic question. There was no questioning she was gone off the flight. I’d smile and wave at her as we took off wishing the Antichrist vomited on her neck. “Yes. She told me to get the fuck out of her way. I’m not dealing with that type of behavior from a passenger.”
“Is she traveling alone?
“No. She has her family with her. She’s in 19D.”
“Ok. Just keep Ursula informed on what’s going on and if we need to get security.”
“I will. The gate agent will need to come down once the aisle is clear to talk to her.”
He responded, “Copy that.” and I hung up the interphone. I punched the jumpseat a few more times, for good luck, and waited for Misty to make her way back from the aisle so I could continue helping passengers with their bags. While standing there watching Misty, and all the commotion from boarding started to die down, I questioned why this dreadful woman lashed out at me. Was she just frustrated like the rest of us? What happened to her before she boarded the flight? Did I really want to kick a passenger off the flight who had her child with her? Even if that child was to grow up to feast on the flesh of Christians? Was I having a change of heart with this lady?
I tried remembering if there was ever a time I said fuck inappropriately. I didn’t have to think about it for long. I use the word so often that I’m convinced it accidently, at one time or another, slipped out when something else should have been said. But I have never directed it at an employee or a complete stranger for no reason. There’s a time and a place to say fuck and it’s not on an airplane directed at your flight attendant.
While I stared out among the passengers, Misty made it back to the galley, “We are almost done boarding,” she said folding her arms leaning against the galley counter.
“Good. Thanks for helping me out and giving me a moment to calm down. I needed it. I called Ursula and briefed her on what happened,” I paused for a moment, “I think I’m gonna try and talk to this lady so we don’t have to kick her off the flight.” Misty gazed at me processing my words. A look of concern furrowed her brows and I nodded in agreement without saying another word. I was just as confused as Misty at how quickly my attitude changed. Maybe it was that last jumpseat punch, but letting out some of that anger and frustration soothed my mood. I wanted to resolve this problem. Honestly, I can’t put my finger on how this conclusion came to be—it just did. Perhaps taking a bus from one airport to another was too much to handle and she snapped. We've all had delusional moments; just look at the flight attendant who decided to end his career by going out the wrong airplane door with a couple of beers. Giving 19D the benefit of the doubt made me the better person and I wanted at all costs to save her from deplaning and leaving her family behind as they jetted off to Ohio. I stepped into the aisle and walked up to row 19.
My first challenge was to stop referring to her as a demonic creature even though she was. Turning to face the back of the airplane, I knelt down on my right knee and took a deep breath, "Ma'am, I am a nice person—.”
Looking straight at me she screamed, "Stop harassing me. Leave me alone! I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to my father.” With a snap of her neck she went back to staring straight ahead towards the seat in front of her.
Talking to her father? During our brief interaction in the aisle her father was walking behind her so I was pretty fucking sure she wasn't talking to him, especially when she was looking straight through me with her fiendish eyes. "You can't talk to a flight attendant like that,” I blurted out, “I can have you taken off this airplane for speaking to me like that.” She continued to look ahead. I looked over at her husband, who barely made eye contact with me, and then kind of forgot where I was, “You are lucky to be here, do you hear me? She definitely heard me. It seemed everyone from row 15 heard me as they simultaneously turned to see what the excitement was behind them. Misty heard me. I wouldn’t be surprised if the ground operations guy heard me from inside the cargo hold. Who needs a megaphone when Joe is your flight attendant?
At this point the airplane was fully boarded and the gate agent was waiting to close the airplane door. Misty picked up quickly that things were not working out and started walking back up to row 19. I stood up to intimidate this lady but she was harder than masonry nails. Her husband stared at me, trying to calm down his screaming baby, with an I'm-so-sorry look. I wanted to ask him if she forgot to take her lithium.
She broke her position, looked over my shoulder as Misty approached, and announced loudly, "I refuse to talk to him anymore! I will only talk to you." If her goal was to aggravate me she had successfully just crossed the finish line.
I was over this fucking lunatic. Done. The fiery tension coming off my head, neck, and chest could have melted the entire Ice Hotel. If I bursted into flames at that exact m
oment, my only wish would have been to take her down with me. Not the husband and Antichrist though, they’d need a fresh start. On second thought—scratch that plan—no love lost if the Antichrist went up in flames with us. Let’s face it: in 20 years he’d be exacting revenge on every flight attendant he could get his claws on. I’d be doing the airline industry a favor if a flicker of my embers found their way onto his diaper.
Misty approached me concerned but I was blind with fury. I couldn’t speak. There was no doubt in my mind that the creature was about to be escorted off the airplane by security and await the next flight. Sitting at the gate area for an extended amount of time would be the perfect opportunity to evaluate her treatment of human beings, even if she wasn’t one. When you live among humans you better know how to fucking treat us. Her hatred for me would last an eternity and I relished in that idea. I’d sleep with one eye open for the rest of my life but it was worth it. Furthermore, if her family wanted to stay behind and stand by her side, so be it. I turned away from the situation and proceeded to the front of the airplane.
“Are we ready to close the door?” The pushy gate agent asked while standing outside on the jet stairs.
“Nope!” I addressed this directly at Ursula, “The lady in 19D is coming off the airplane. I will not fly with her.” I theatrically stated for the entire first three rows to hear. My delivery was so climactic if I curtsied after my lines I’d have received a standing ovation. A reaction ultimately pissing me off because the seat belt sign was illuminated. You know when my anger overpowers my desire for attention and praise I’m fucking outraged.
Ursula moved from the space between the galley and the flight deck, “What’s going on?”
I planted my feet in the aisle at row one, “The lady in 19D is what’s going on. I want her taken off the flight. She’s being disrespectful and dropped the F-bomb.”
“She’s traveling with her family, right?”
“Yes. Her mother, father, husband, and baby. That doesn’t matter.” I was confused as to the point of her question.
“It actually does,” Ursula answered while leaning towards the flight deck, “Captain, can you come out here?”
What the fuck was happening? And why was Ursula looking at me like Lord Voldemort after he summoned his Death Eaters? I had previously spoken to Captain Emerson and I was under the impression we were in agreement with reference to this passenger getting the boot. My eyes panned back and forth from Ursula to the gate agent, and then Captain Emerson climbed out of his seat, stepped out of the flight deck, and squeezed past Ursula.
“Come over here so we can talk.” He walked through the galley and waved me to follow him onto the wet platform. While standing between him and the gate agent he continued softly, “I spoke with Ursula. We’ve decided not to remove that lady. She’s traveling with her entire family and I’m not kicking off some lady with a baby. I don’t care how much of an asshole she’s being.”
I peered at him while the drizzle danced off my bald head. He’s lucky laser beams weren’t attached to my fucking eyeballs or he’d be incinerated. I looked over at Ursula standing in the galley while innocently looking down at the manifest. She was obviously listening to our entire conversation but trying to look preoccupied. I fought the instinct to haphazardly shriek,“Hey Ursula. You’re a big fat fucking cunt!” I swallowed it down like it was a balloon full of coke and I was crossing from San Diego to TiDiegoa. I figure that’s difficult, right?
“Who decided?” I conjured up a perplexed facial expression, “You and Ursula? I thought I had a say in this too.”
His forehead crinkled, “I decided!” It was easy to see how offended he became after I added Ursula to the equation, “Let’s not forget I’m the captain. If you have a problem with that we can remove you from the flight and get another flight attendant.”
I was flabbergasted and had no words to express myself. That’s a fucking lie; I had the exact words to express myself but swallowed them down again. This time it being slightly more strenuous than just a balloon of coke—this time like a brick. Instead of reciting all those lovely adult themed slang words I shook my head in disbelief. Disbelief that this passenger was getting away with talking to me the way she did and that Ursula had just slipped it to me with no lube.
Captain Emerson watched me and reiterated, “Are we going to be alright on this flight today? I’d like to go home.”
“I guess.” I stomped back onto the airplane making brief eye contact with Ursula. Not too long, just enough to let her know my blood was bubbling up like hot magma. She also needed to know that she was the enemy now. Fuck 19D—I had bigger cunts to fry.
Unity as a crew on the airplane is vital for a successful flight. Even if at that exact moment you don’t 100% agree with the person you are working with, having their back when surrounded by passengers is beneficial. Standing strong as a crew sends a powerful message to the passengers on the airplane. It sets the tone that flight attendants are not parents and passengers can’t play us. You will get the same response from me that you will get from Misty, and so on. You notice I didn’t say Ursula, right? It was hard to include Ursula while I maneuvered through the airplane trying to pull her jagged knife out of my back.
My policy for handling altercations with coworkers is simple. Support each other in front of passengers and when you’re finally alone behind closed doors—beat the shit out of them. Clean and simple. That’s a joke. Calm down. I am not encouraging work related violence. Just handle those critical conversations behind closed doors or in the back galley. It really depends on how long you can hold your tongue. Bottom line is that flight attendants should look out for each others at all times. It’s basically sink or swim. News flash to the reader and anyone who might actually ever work with me: I do not like sinking. Second news flash: if every flight attendant working with me from this point moving forward can have my back when dealing with asshole passengers, I’d forever be grateful. While I’m thinking about it, I should also add it’s influential when the captain has your back too. It makes working in a tube at 37,000 feet easier if the entire working crew agrees on how to handle different passenger concerns and issues. I am not saying all flight attendants and pilots get along. Trust me, they don’t, but when it comes to dealing with passenger issues it’s important to stick together. I walked through the airplane towards the exit row to give my standard briefing. It was hard to concentrate. My plastic smile flashing from passenger to passenger and row to row all while struggling to erase the smug look on Ursula’s face from my mind. It might have been easier to grab Ursula’s wavy long hair—which was out of uniform compliance, I might add—and beat her to a pulp with an oxygen bottle. It was official: Ursula was a bigger bitch than the lady who told me to get the fuck out of her way. At least she was upfront and direct with me. Ursula slithered behind my back like a poisonous serpent.
After conducting the exit row briefing I went right back up to the front galley. By the time I reached the galley the main airplane door was closed. I positioned myself waiting for Ursula’s cue to arm the doors.
Without looking at me she picked up the interphone, “Flight attendants prepare for departure.”
I whispered to myself, “Eat a dick, Ursula. Eat a big fat hairy dick!” She didn’t hear me, which was good. I moved away from my armed door and before she asked I answered, “My door is armed and cross checked.”
I stepped out of the galley and opened the first overhead bin to grab my safety demonstration kit. I tossed the kit through the air and it landed on the galley counter with a thud. Fuck it. I didn’t care. Let her say something. Please. I was waiting. It’s that instant when you regret not verbally attacking someone who has wronged you. My pride was hurt. My ego fucking destroyed. I didn’t even feel like a man. My dick and balls packed up and went searching for an eager pre-op transitioning male who’d actually use them. Like Chaz Bono. Chaz Bono would use the fuck out of my dick. Sadly, I just carried my dick and balls around like luggage.
Ursula sat in her jumpseat preparing to read the safety demonstration. I stood in position at row one and plastered on my fake smile. I should have won a Tony Award for this shit.
Her voice drove me to the brink of insanity. I knew discussing my feelings with her was my only option. Simply looking at her made me want to wrap the oxygen tubing around her neck. After the safety demonstration was complete, I arranged the equipment back into the black leather bag and placed it securely into the overhead bin. No words were exchanged. She stood up putting her stuff away but I ignored her. I’d need a minute to construct my thoughts and words before confronting her. I had to brace myself. With how upset I was, if I started talking without a formulated plan, security might have been needed out on the tarmac.
Matt says that when I am mad I have the tendency to go from zero to 10 within seconds. Probably more like zero to 1,000. I have no filter. He also says I have no control over how angry I get. My anger knows no limits. It’s all true. But at work it’s different. There’s a switch somewhere in my brain that deciphers when it’s alright to go batshit crazy on someone and when it’s not. I am no doctor but if you cracked my skull open, peered deep inside my brain, you’d most likely see synapses firing all out of sync. I have no fucking clue. Knowing all that about my anger I had to carefully think about how to approach her. Ignoring her sounded perfect, but that was unprofessional. She may not be professional but I am. And if I gave her the cold shoulder I’d miss out on letting her know how disgusted I was with her behavior and her short skirt. Being honest and letting her know how I felt was way more professional than just ignoring her for five hours. It was settled. I had to confront her; I couldn’t live without my dick and balls. Even if they had already moved on to Chaz.
I started to the back of the airplane to talk things out with Misty. We just pulled away from the gate so I figured I had plenty of time to give her the rundown on Ursula’s behavior and get some feedback. Worry about their friendship had vanished. Even if Ursula had been the maid of honor at her wedding—I had no idea if that’s true or not—I was ready to unleash my opinion. I never got the chance. As I approached the fifth row Captain Emerson’s voice came over the PA, “Flight attendants, please take your seats for departure.”
